


Magic Eyelashes

by LimeOfMagicLimo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (not important for the story but I will NOT stand for Pepperony erasure), Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Depression, Gay Bucky Barnes, How Do I Tag, M/M, No Cheating (we don't do that under this roof), Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Recovery, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, endgame is WinterIron, i guess, librarian!Tony, like an uncle, writer!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22293388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LimeOfMagicLimo/pseuds/LimeOfMagicLimo
Summary: James Barnes' career and relationship both are on the line after a car accident in which he lost his arm, his confidence and his mental health. Half running away and half seeking help, the fantasy writer finds himself in Rose Hill, Tennessee. There he meets Tony, the town's most favourite - and only - librarian.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 30
Kudos: 64





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meliore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliore/gifts).



> ...And her fic December 16 (1991) where we came up with the plot in our (long, so long) comments thread. That's where all the credit goes.
> 
> Timeline  
> 2000 Steve (18) and Bucky (18) join Army  
> 2006 Bucky (24) leaves Army, publishes books under pseudo of Sebastian Stan ‘couse I’m a d o r k  
> 2007 Harley’s (6) dad leaves  
> 2009 Tony (39) crashes and moves to Tennessee, Harley (8); “Ok Boomer” in existence  
> 2011 DADT end, Stucky (29) marriage  
> 2014 presence, Bucky&Steve (32), Tony (44), Harley (13)
> 
> That moment when you find yourself googling every film and meme you want to use in a conversation because you're sure it has been around since you were a toddler but it's actually only about 5 years; or the other way around. 
> 
> Am I using too many commas? Probably! Never figured out the English rules. So long as we don't eat grandma.
> 
> By my track record, the next chapter will be up, well, never, but I also started using the fic as a procrastination tool, so here's to hoping.

Rose Hill, Tennessee. A town so tiny it didn’t even have a Wikipedia page. There was an actress, an athlete, a couple towns in England and one on Mauricius. For the US, Wikipedia offered Rose Hill in Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, Mississippi, Manhattan, New York, North California, Ohio, three in Texas, and four in Virginia. Bucky checked.

He didn’t plan ending up in a town that could be the settings of one his murder mysteries he wrote before he found out fantasy was his forte. But, here he was, the town just depressing enough to fit his own depression. Far away from everything and everyone he knew and loved to remind him what he had lost and what he was going to lose. He might as well stay for a while. 

Was it a healthy thing to do? Hell no. Was Sam going to kill him? Probably. Was Natasha going to kill him? Oh, he was _so_ dead.

Was Bucky doing it anyway?

Yes.

He had his husband’s blessings though, as reluctant as it was, so shut up.

He fell on the bed, groaning when the mattress turned out to be as hard as it looked. There were two hotels in the town - a motel for truck drivers passing by (and probably local unfaithful husbands and wives), and a B&B, which Bucky opted for. There was a post office, and a public library. And a police station, let’s not forget the police station. Bucky had a feeling the sheriff didn’t like him. That was annoying, but okay. Bucky didn’t like himself much most of the days these days, either. 

Fuck, no wonder the sheriff sized him up like he was going to steal all the silverware. He looked like a hobo on a run from the law. He had lost weight during his hospital stay, cheeks still gaunt and clothes loose on his frame despite all Steve’s mother-henning. He slept badly or not at all, the bags under his eyes could carry groceries for a four-member family. The only reason sheriff didn’t kick him out of the town was probably - pity, the dead prosthetic hanging uselessly by his side. Look, a cripple. Let the cripple spend the night, the sheriff probably thought. How would he steal, he can’t wipe his own ass.

Bucky was aware of his dark thoughts consuming him, and he let them. It felt so good, in a very fucked up way, to feel bad without Steve’s worried hovering and Natasha wasting her time watching over him when Steve was at work. Babysitting him. He was a burden. A waste of space. Both Steve and Tasha said they didn’t mind but who enjoyed helping a man in his thirties get dressed? Who didn’t mind getting up two times a night because Bucky couldn’t get a grip on the nightmares? Who liked being sleep deprived and cussed at by an ungrateful, emotionally unstable one armed piece of shit? Nobody, that was who. Steve was just too nice for his own good and stayed even when he didn’t sign up for-

Bucky managed to stop right there. If anyone talked shit about his husband like that, Bucky would kick their ass. He _had_ kicked ass for less. And now he was the person who deserved the kicking.

He sent the mandatory “I’m alive” text. 

He did not plug his arm in to charge.

The next day found Bucky grumpy, disheveled and with hunger gnawing on his stomach but with no appetite. The smell of food was making his stomach turn. The mere memory of Steve’s big sad eyes were enough to guilt-trip him into eating, though, so he single-handly scooped two squares of plain toasted bread and poured himself a mug of mediocre coffee and plopped down at one of the tables in a corner, where his back was covered and he could watch the whole room. Except from him, there was one other guy, most likely a driver who didn’t fit in the motel because Mr. or Mrs. Unfaithful were getting lucky last night. Bucky wondered how many guests the dinner had per year, and how they stayed afloat. 

#### <<<*>>>

In a town as small as Rose Hill, Tennessee (and didn’t Tennessee have just needlessly too many doubled letters?), news spread quickly that the weird guy Barnes was staying for longer than the single night. Who in their right mind would want to spend a full week in the hole of a town, right? Tony was the only person in the last decade or two who stayed.

Tony was still referred to as “the new guy”, despite manning the town’s library for the last… six years. Hm. He honestly thought it has been longer than that. No matter. Six years was good. It didn’t make him feel as old as realising the Pirates of the Caribbean came out in 2003 did. He was fourty-four, and with the peaceful lifestyle he had here, he might even get to live past sixty. That was a pleasant thought.

The gossip club of Rose Hill’s grannies, called “Book Club” in a frankly useless attempt to make it look like anything else than shameless gossipping, kept Tony updated on their mysterious stranger. His name was James Barnes. He was something of a recluse, and talked mostly in huffs and grunts. He was tall, in a desperate need of a haircut and proper feeding. The boy was too thin, the grannies all agreed, if he cleaned up, filled out and smiled, he would be a strapping young man. He also had a bad arm. Nobody has seen it yet, as Barnes kept it covered at all times, but most people bet their money on some horrifying burn scars.

The morbid curiosity made Tony sick to his stomach, and his hand travelled to his own scars on his chest every time. “He is probably self conscious about it,” he told them once, when the old hags were spinning more and more absurd stories. “Try not to draw attention to it when you talk with him. Look in his face like he was anybody else.” He softened the reprimand with a plate of scones and redirected the conversation to Mandy Clark going on a date with Jamie Turner, hoping Barnes would have an easier time with people reacting to his… injury? He wasn’t going to pry and hoped nobody else would either. 

Of course, that was not a realistic notion as a certain Harley Keener also lived in Rose Hill, Tennessee.

#### <<<*>>>

Harley was a good kid. He had authority and abandonment issues Tony could relate to, a good head on his shoulders, an affinity to anything mechanic and insatiable curiosity. He also had a big mouth and no sense of personal boundaries.

“How far up does it go? What’s it made of? Does it run on batteries or is it body powered? Can you move it?”

Barnes looked backed up in a corner, eyes wild around the edges. How did Harley not notice he was making Barnes uncomfortable was beyond Tony. Not for the first time he wondered if Harley didn’t have some kind of diagnosis. After all, it did take the kid almost two weeks to stop driving Tony into panic attacks when they first started hanging out. In Harley’s defence, Tony was still a hot piping mess back then.

“Harley!” he called out, and headed over to the pair in quick strides. It was Wednesday and the town was deserted, nearly everyone gone to work or school. “Let the man breathe. What did we say about asking invasive questions?”

A few years ago Harley would give him a sheepish grin and a defensive apology. Now he only paused and said, “Yeah, that’s probably a sensitive subject. Sorry.” The blunt apology was aimed at Barnes. The hermit looked like he wanted to flee, but in a shady, slipping-along-the-walls-like-a-cartoon-villain style.

As Barnes didn’t look like he was going to speak anytime soon, Tony took the matters in his own hands and squinted at Harley, as if he couldn’t for the love of God work out how was the kid standing there. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school? I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be at school.”

“I’m suspended until the rest of the week,” Harley confessed shamelessly, but Tony could tell he was actually upset about it. “I done thought we could hang out?” he added, hope colouring his face.

“Sure thing. I have to drop and sort these but…” he juggled the box in his arms to fish out the keys of his garage. He tossed them to the kid. “If you burn the place down I’m calling CIA at you,” he threatened. Harley of course knew it was an empty threat and run off with a cheery, “Sure thing, old man. Bye Mr. Barnes!”

Tall, Dark and Mysterious must have gotten himself together a bit during their banter because he managed a strained smile at the teen’s back. 

Tony gasped in mock offense at the friendly jab. “No respect, kids these days,” he told Barnes, shaking his head. Then he dropped the joking attitude for a sincere apology. “I’m sorry for Harley. He’s a good kid but… excitable. You want something to drink? You look like you could use a hot chocolate.” He glanced up and down the man’s imposing figure and overall grim demeanor. “Come on in.”

He pressed his wristwatch to the sensors underneath the door handle of the library’s back door they were, rather conveniently, standing in front of. He had installed the mechanism shortly after he took over the place, tired of juggling and dropping shit to unlock the door. It was one of the many changes he’d done to the place. Okay, he more like tore the house down and rebuilt it from the ground but details. Apart from the main library area here was now a sound-proofed computer study and a small kitchenette with a coffee maker and a fridge, which was where Tony headed, leaving the doors wide open. The Grim Reaper could choose if he wanted to follow or not. But when Tony heard the door shut close, he knew the man took him up on his offer. 

#### <<<*>>>

The insides of the library was a stark contrast to it’s outsides which matched the rundown attitude of the town. It was bright. It was… cosy. There were plants in the windows with names written on the pots with a sharpie. One whole wall was a whiteboard lined with two noticeboards, which was an idea he found he liked. Another wall of the room was just glass from the floor to the ceiling, four rows of tables with computers behind it. There was a kitchen corner. It was like he stepped from horror mystery to science fiction. 

While Bucky was quietly admiring the interior, the short brunet set his package on one of the empty tables and was beeping away on a coffee machine. “How big a mug do you want? Also do you take marshmallows? I could make with catamel but that would take a little longer. We have time, though, it only gets busy after four when kids come to do their homework.”

“Plain's good,” Bucky mumbled. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” the - librarian? hummed and pulled two large mismatched mugs from a cupboard. The older man moved with a certain grace, like he was perfectly aware of where everything was, and his whole being radiated easy confidence without demanding respect, like Steve often did. Bucky found himself relaxing. That confidence was probably why he had followed the man instead of fleeing.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the kid, Harvey? Harley? The kid’s questions made him feel like he was back in the hospital. He was moments away from a full-blown anxiety attack when the stranger swooped in. Bucky didn’t think the man was Harley’s dad but they were definitely close. Maybe an uncle? They had similar hair maybe, and both talked almost too fast. But the librarian didn’t sound like a southerner at all. More like…

“Are you from New York, or what?” His eyes widened, realising that he asked it out loud. That was an awfully personal question to ask when you knew someone barely five minutes. He looked like vagabond, his voice was rough from how little he spoke these days, and his Brooklyn came out thick. The guy was going to think he was a hipster serial killer.

It the shorter brunet thought anything along these lines he didn’t let it show. He gave Bucky over his shoulder, fiddling with the coffee machine. “Manhattan, born and raised. Spent some years in Boston and East Coast, but New York was home. You’re a Brooklyn boy I take it?” Bucky nodded. The brunet, and Bucky should really ask for a name, had a really nice smile. It was in the eyes. 

His eyes… they were really expressive and Bucky wished he didn’t have a writer’s block eight miles thick, because then he could describe them. Make them justice. His fist clenched where it was rested in his lap.

“I’m Tony, by the way,” his host’s pleasant voice tipped Bucky away from the downhill spiral he was about to fall into. “Local librarian, if all the books didn’t clue you in yet,” he gestured around with one steaming mug and placed the other in front of Bucky. A jar of minimarshmallows and a carton of milk joined soon after and then Tony was sitting down opposite of Bucky.

“Bucky,” Bucky grunted and wrapped his functional fingers around the hot mug. Tony’s eyebrows shot up.

“Bucky? How did you get that out of James Barnes?” the question was friendly enough but… How did Tony know his name? As if seeing the question written in the frown on his face, the librarian chuckled. “Small town. The B&B is run by Emma Clark who gossips with John Mitchell who talks to his mom Rosa every other day when Rosa is babysitting the grandkids. Rosa is a member of the gossip club which meets every Tuesday afternoon here in the library, making me an honorary member so long as I provide scones and hot drinks.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if the explanation made him feel any better but he nodded anyway. “It’s a childhood nickname that stuck. From my middle name. Buchanan.” Tiny Stevie came up with the nickname to set his future husband firmly aside from all the other Jameses, they joked. They also said they were gay for each other before they even knew what a sexuality was. And now sweet, bullheaded Steve was stranded with a depressed broody one armed asshole.

For the second time that day, Tony saved him from spiraling to places dark and ugly. The librarian made a compassionate face, sipped his beverage and smacked his lips lightly. “I feel you. Edward used to be okay and then Twilight came out.”

“Your middle name’s Edward?”

“Regretfully yes. Especially since the glitter bomb incident of ‘86 is a thing. When my best friend watched the movies with his niece he laughed at me for weeks. Joke’s on him, he had to suffer through the entire series.” Tony rolled his eyes but it was obvious how happy he was at the mere mention of his friend. “He’s a James too by the way, but only his mother calls him that. Everybody else calls him Rhodey, courtesy of yours truly. He got recently promoted to a Colonel, my Rhodey-bear, so unless you want me to sound like a proud housewife for the next, hm, fourty minutes, you better stop me now.” Tony was grinning at Bucky over the rim of his mug self-consciously, like one too many people told him to shut up when he was being passionate about something. Bucky didn’t like that. He just _knew_ Tony would light up like Steve did when talking about art. Steve was always _so beautiful_ when he got on a roll. It’s been so long since he’s got on one, too, always too worried about Bucky’s everything.

So, Bucky had a choice between a nearly full mug of chocolate and a company who wouldn’t mind doing all the talking and wasn’t grating on his nerves; or making excuses, sulking away to his rented room and having nothing to report that would ease Steve’s mind. Sulking away sounded pretty good. Which was why it was the wrong choice. “Your friend’s military?”

“Air Force,” Tony stated proudly. 

“You mean the Chair Force?” Bucky grunted on reflex. It was worth the unimpressed look Tony tried to give him even as his lips twitched.

“That was just, _so_ witty, I haven’t heard that one _once_ in my life, _ever_. You an Army boy, with that head on your shoulders?” the shorter brunet snarked.

“Sniper.”

Tony whistled, clearly impressed, but his eyes flickered to Bucky’s prosthetic arm. It was so quick, Bucky might have missed it if he wasn’t so finely tuned to the missing limb. He tugged at his sleeve uncomfortably, pulling it nearly over his glowed fingers. ”I quit in 2006. My husband stayed, made a Captain,” he said.

Tony tipped his mug at him in a salute, serious and sincere. “Congratulations. On both the marriage and your man’s captain promotion. DADT gives you guys much trouble?” 

“Asking for a friend?” the younger brunet deflected.

Tony laughed, eyes crinkling adorably. “Not gonna lie, I had the _hugest_ crush on Rhodey at college. I mean, handsome, kind, a literal rocket scientist _and_ kept me supplied with coffee? Who _wouldn’t_ fall in love with that, right? Sadly for my eloped-to-Vegas dream wedding, Sour Patch is tragically straight. And sees me as a younger brother which, after a bucket of ice cream and a B-rated sci-fi marathon I was happy to take.” He smiled at Bucky, eyes soft and his hands quieting their gesturing. 

“Truth be told, it might have been more of a man-crush than a romantic crush. Either way, my Rhodey’s the best and therefore we respect US Air Force under this roof, young man,” Tony finished.

“Ok, boomer,” Bucky fired back, making Tony sputter.

“I don’t know what is worse, that you said it or that I understood the reference,” the smaller man complained before going off on a tangent about memes. 

Bucky let himself sink into the rhythm of Tony’s voice, only half listening to the meaning of the words. He hasn’t felt this light since they took him off the good stuff at the hospital. Tony, he was so easy to talk to. There was no judgement, no expectations, no lingering sad looks, no guilt. The guy just seemed happy to have someone to talk their ear off.

Without a pause to take his breath Tony was suddenly saying, “Wait up, somebody’s blowing up my phone,” and fishing the device from his back pocket, accepting the phone call. Bucky watched Tony quietly as the man’s brows furrowed. “What the fuck, Harley,” the brunet exclaimed, “be right there.” Standing up he shut the phone and looked at Bucky. “Hey, so, sorry to cut this short but the kid got his hair stuck in machinery and needs saving.”

Bucky’s eyes flew wide as his brain brought up an image of the snarky teen getting scalped by a running car engine. Tony must have noticed his horror because he was quick to supply, “It’s nothing dangerous, think stuck in a shirt button kind of a situation, only with a science project. It’s cool, it’s fine, worst case scenario we’ll take scissors to it.” He was already grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. “Feel free to stay for as long as you want, pick a book, use a computer, just shut the door on your way out so that it’s not drafty in here. It was great talking to you, stop by anytime. Bye!” And he was gone.

Dumbfounded by the abrupt departure of his host, Bucky sat motionless for several long seconds. He looked around the empty library that lost nothing of it’s warmth in Tony’s absence. With a light sigh he got up, collecting the two empty mugs and took them to the sink. Washing after himself was the least he could do.

<<<*>>>

The light feeling didn’t quite last until the evening. He still didn’t plug his arm in to charge, but he texted Sam about having avoided an anxiety attack. He sent a copy of that text to Steve.


	2. Of Men and Tech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roombas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Contains high school physics! It's only one paragraph and I picked a part that I still understand... in my native language. It's all copied from a random-ish Physics for Dummies website. Felt relevant.
> 
> Also, Tony's backstory contains mentions of drug abuse, and Bucky's thoughts contain mentions of bad doctors.

It took Bucky until late afternoon the next day to leave his B&B room. It took him some more to breath through it when his anxiety flared up again, only around the corner from the library. He had pills, Steve packed the small box for him, but he didn’t like taking them. He shouldn’t _have_ to take them. Especially not now. Tony was a good man and a good company. They had a shared experience with deployed significant others. His coffee maker made really good brew. The library was a public place and Tony had specifically said Bucky was invited to stop by. There was nothing to be anxious about.

His anxiety did not care about any of that.

And it was way past four. Tony had said that was when people started coming to the library. Tony had been good about the arm but what if the others weren’t? What if somebody asked him to hold something? Bucky clenched his hand around the dead weight on his left side. He had accidentally opened the drawer where he had stored the prosthetic charger. The sight of the cables made his stomach turn and the next thing he knew, he was dry-heaving into the toilet bowl.

That was what made Bucky get dressed and get out. He wanted to feel it again, the warmth of the library and of Tony’s nonchalant _everything_.

Tony didn’t let the kid harass Bucky yesterday. He would insert himself between Bucky and discomfort today too. Bucky didn’t know how he knew that but he knew it with the same clarity he knew Steve would have his back. Tony was good.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky summoned his strength. All he had to do was march up into the library. Piece of cake. A walk in the park, if there was any more greenery.

The first time Tony took him through the back door but the front was not that much different. The door lead to a small hall with coat racks on the right and eight lockers on the left. As Bucky didn’t have anything on him to put away and didn’t want to part from any layer of clothing standing between the prosthetic and other people, he carried on to the next door after only a short hesitation. 

He could hear Tony’s voice as soon as he pressed the handle. It was fast-paced, perceptible, a speech of a man in his element. It folded around Bucky and lured him in, the yellowish lightning of the room gentle and inviting. He walked past an abandoned reception desk, got swallowed by rows of book spines until he emerged in the resting area Tony took him to yesterday. 

The short brunet stood in front of the whiteboard wall, a black marker in hand and a group of four teenagers at the tables before him. “The constant of proportionality between acceleration and displacement for a body moving with simple harmonic motion is simply equal to the square of the angular speed of the axillary circular motion. And since angular velocity equals 2π divided by the period,” he tapped on one of the equations on the board, “we have an easy way to find the value of this constant in  _ any given oscillation! _ We only need to measure the time period. Let’s do a sample problem. Ask questions as soon as you think you’re getting lost, not after you find yourself on a mysterious island in the middle of the Pacific.”

As quietly as he could, Bucky went to sit down to the back of the makeshift classroom. The movement must have alerted Tony, because the older man flashed him a smile before diving back into high school physics. And Bucky had to give it to him, he was good. He thought he had forgotten most of it over the years of not using it, however Tony was like a hit of fresh air to his mind. The second sample problem, Bucky solved in his head in about two minutes with a little help from the notes on the whiteboard. It felt like stretching a muscle. Good.

####  <<<*>>>

All too soon, the students were packing their notebooks away with Tony threatening to change all of their Steam usernames to JarJarBoinks if they don’t practice some more on their own. The threat, curiously enough, appeared to be taken seriously. Bucky sat still but anxiety was stirring in his belly. Maybe this was enough social exposure for the day. Maybe Tony would accept one of the many dinner invitations the teens were relaying from their moms and tell Bucky to leave. The bright smile Tony directed at him soothed the queasy feeling immediately. There was no way the light in his dark eyes was anything but genuine.

“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” the older man called out on his way to the kitchenette. “Can I offer you a drink? There’s also pie. Pear. Gluten free.”

“You baked?” Bucky hazarded. Tony didn’t strike him as a type who would enjoy puttering in the kitchen beyond fixing up a mug of coffee, but he also executed the aura of a man who managed whatever he set his mind on. Bucky got up and moved to his yesterday’s seat so that they could talk easier.

Tony only shot him another smile as he cut two pieces of pie and set them on old looking, mismatched plates. “No, no, I don’t bake. Mama Rhodes made me promise I won’t ever touch the oven without responsible adult supervision again. You cause a tiny, tiny kitchen fire one time and nobody ever lets you forget it. This comes from the dinner. Harley’s mom is a waiter there and sometimes sends me stuff. Harley is okay by the way - we didn’t even have to use the scissors.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“Uh huh. So what’s your poison? I’ve got coffee, tea, milk, water, juice…” Tony listed, waving his hand around. He really talked with his hands as much as he talked with his mouth, Bucky noted. Both the mouth and the hands were pretty eye-catching, it was a part of why Tony was such a spellbinder.

“Um,” Bucky said when he realised he was staring and Tony was waiting for an answer. “Tea, please.” He started avoiding coffee after he once had it after a bad anxiety attack and it made everything worse.

Tony hummed and rummaged through a cupboard, lifting variously coloured boxes as he did. “Black, red orange, ginger, green-”

“That,” Bucky jumped in, making Tony turn slightly with the tea box held over his shoulder. The writer gave a nod. Satisfied with the confirmation, Tony plucked a tea bag out of the box and dropped it in the coffee maker. In no time there was a steaming drink in front of Bucky. He touched the rim gently, playing with it while he waited for Tony to get his own drink - coffee, by the smell - and noted that it was the same mug he got yesterday. Big, a little chapped, pale blue with a painting of snow-covered trees and a sleeping white wolf. He liked it. He looked up when a piece of pie was slid under his nose. Tony was holding out a fork for him. “Thanks,” he said and took it.

The other brunet dropped in his own seat and dug into the pastry. “This is my first meal since breakfast.” It sounded like a confession and Bucky gave him a little prompting stare. ”I have a bad habit of trying to live off coffee and spite. In my defence, coffee should qualify as food.”

_ It really shouldn’t, _ Bucky thought staring at the older man blankly. Tony smirked and pointed at his face. “Away with that judgy face, Mister. Coffee could be the  _ foundation  _ of the food pyramid.”   
  
_ It really couldn’t _ , Bucky thought. Tony must have read the shift from distress to downright fright on his face because he clucked his tongue contemplatively. “Hey, at least I don’t top it with energy drinks anymore.”

What the hell. “You’re not helping your case at all,” he informed the other man. Tony’s lips twitched but didn’t form a full smirk. The man was pleased but not going to share what about. Just a tiny bit annoyed, Bucky glanced back at the whiteboard. “Do you often give physic lessons?”

“Only when a quiz’s coming up. The teacher is apparently a huge dick but the school won’t fire him because he’s a relative or something. Official story is they don’t have a substitute, which isn’t entirely false. Not many people care to teach in Dumbfuck Nowhere, Tennessee,” Tony explained. 

Bucky mulled it over. Tony has already chose to be a librarian in Dumbfuck Nowhere and he seemed to enjoy teaching. Maybe he could act as a substitute teacher until the school found someone permanent? The train of thought was altered though when he remembered something.

“Why doesn’t Rose Hill have a wiki page?”

“Oh, that’s… Long story short, it’s because I’m a stupid,” Tony grimaced slightly. He didn’t seem uncomfortable with the topic, though. “The long story comes with a dose of a pretty personal info. And trust me, nothing ruins a date like oversharing."

Bucky ignored the bit where Tony called their meeting a date, trying to gaude if Tony wanted to tell him or not. He had to admit, he was curious. It was refreshing to be interested in something again. He settled on, “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

Tony shrugged, then nodded. “Alright, but you brought it upon yourself. I’m a recovering alcoholic and drug addict.” The words fell easily from his lips, as if he had said them a hundred of time. It was impressive to Bucky, who still had trouble talking about his PTSD. He had been to war - and a car accident was what brought him to his knees? That felt kind of pathetic, even if he did lose a limb in the crash. He squeezed the warm mug in his hand and focused on Tony.

“I've had easy access to substances since I was a teen, and by early twenties I was high more often than not. I was shit at accepting help, too, thought I had it under control and could stop anytime if I wanted to. Which I didn't. The few times I was enrolled to rehab, I found a way to either break out or smuggle shit in.” Tony heaved a heavy sigh. He was such a shit of a person back then. He barely remembered the 90s apart from flashes of working binges, getting groped at galas. Obie shoving him into showers so that he looked presentable for SI. Rhodey dragging him away from bars. Pepper’s frustrated face. He checked if he wasn’t boring his listener and found Barnes staring at him. His gaze was intense but free of judgement and Tony continued with more ease than usually.

“I got milder about it in 2000s. I don’t know what happens to human body when you turn 30 but waking up in drunk yoga positions suddenly gets  _ really  _ uncomfortable. Forget drunk yoga, sleeping with  _ one pillow less _ wrecks your back!” Tony complained, throwing hands. “I still indulged a lot, I was just better at not overdoing it. Then in 2008 I received a wake-up call.” He wasn’t going to tell Bucky his godfather, a man he considered a friend and a father figure, had ordered at hit on him. Because his usefulness to the company wasn’t enough to make up for the downsides of his behaviour any more. Because Obie got greedy. Because he cared about power more than he cared about Tony. That would never stop hurting.

Yeah, Tony wasn’t going to tell Bucky about that. There was oversharing and then there was  _ oversharing _ .

“I started on detox, rehab, therapy, all nine yards. Relapsed on Christmas, in Malibu, and woke up in January here in Tennessee on a couch in Harley’s barn.” It always felt like the story stretched on for hours when he talked about his addictions but he knew from experience that barely 5 minutes passed since he started. “He hooked me up with a phone so that I could call my friend Pepper to tell her I was alright. I was still pretty out of it and I panicked. Told her I was nowhere and deleted the Tennessee’s Rose Hill from Wikipedia. As if that would stop Pepper from finding me. Yep,” he pointed at Bucky’s horrified face. Bucky was imagining Natasha’s reaction if he pulled something like that. Jesus, she would point blank murder him. “She was  _ furious _ when she arrived here with Rhodey a couple weeks later.”

Tony really thought she was going to spontaneously combust from fury, and when she stopped yelling, she started crying, which was even worse as Tony never knew how to handle tears. They had acknowledged the possibility of romantic feelings between them mere months ago too, and his sudden disappearance was a hard blow.

“That how you ended up living here?” Bucky asked after the silence stretched for a little too long, Tony lost in thoughts.

The smaller brunet startled at the question but caught up quickly. “Yep. Pretty much. Harley wrangled me in helping him with a project of his and I never escaped since. I am a prisoner in this town. I’m Belle,” he laughed, waving at the bookshelves.

And, lo and behold, Barnes cracked an actual smile! Tony beamed at the man. He was so gorgeous?! His captain hubby was a lucky man. 

“Yeah, yeah. I kind of took over the library. It was sort of run down since the town didn’t have much funds but it was good to have a hands-on project where I could see the progress day by day. And here is much less temptation than in Cali or New York. I’m six years clean and four years sober now,” he provided with a soft smile. He was proud of how he turned his life around, despite the circumstances that surrounded the change.

Tony wished he had pulled his head out of his ass sooner. If he had, he could have stopped Obadiah’s double dealing sooner. He would have stopped hurting his friends earlier. It was a miracle Rhodey, Pepper and Happy stuck with him through it all. He knew he didn’t deserve them. He also knew better than to think he could make that decision for them. If they wanted to love him, Tony was going to be loved and he was going to like it, dammit! 

The memory of Rhodey yelling at him and squeezing the life out of him in a bear hug at the same time made Tony grin, a private little thing. He forgot for the moment that he was being watched. Bucky was mesmerised by the other man. He wanted. He wanted to be at peace like the man sitting before him. 

Still grinning, Tony sipped at his drink, then rose to his feet. “More sugar,” he sighed and got up to get the aforementioned sugar. Story time over. “You want anything while I’m up? More tea, more pie, anything? Except for items on Pepper’s ban list,” he asked Bucky. The man remained quiet and Tony went off on a rant about how Pepper started enforcing one ridiculous, reportedly healthy diet after another. Gluten was allowed to get scarce but no way he was going to swear off diary. 

Once he was up though, Tony absentmindedly started his clean up routine. Wiping down the counter, spraying plants with water and tossing a few comments at them there and there, all while keeping a steady chatter at Bucky. He was very much not watching his mouth anymore. He could do small talk in his sleep, having done it at SI social functions almost since before he  _ could _ talk. That was why he was so surprised to hear Bucky curse quietly over agitated roomba sounds.   
  
“Ultron! No. Out. We talked about this! Who gave you the knife? You’re still on time-out!” Tony hurried over to the vet, who was now sitting with his feet out of the armed roomba’s reach. He picked the gray and silver bot up and, ignoring the angry whirring, peeled the tape holding the kitchen knife off its back. “That’s a dunce cap for you, you homicidal bucket of bolts,” he grumbled “Uh-uh-nuh! Don’t give me that look mister, you know very well your knife privileges get revoked if you roll around slicing people at the ankles.” He set the knife in the kitchen sink and pulled a pointy paper cap from one of the cupboards, skillfully taping it on the roomba. “There. Scatter. Really?  _ Really? _ ” Tony folded his arms across his chest and glared down at the vacuum, which was bumping against his shoe to show how unhappy it was with the disciplinal actions. “Drop this attitude at once, young sir, or I’m donating you to a state college and you’ll spend the rest of your life cleaning after frat boys.” At that, the roomba let out one last angry whirl and sped away, presumably to find some conveniently low furniture to knock the dunce cap off with. Tony rolled his eyes, pretending he doesn’t know why he keeps the baby Skynet around - even though he knew perfectly well he could never part form any of his AI children, no matter if they came out a little special.

He glanced at Bucky. The man had lowered his feet back on the ground and had been watching Tony berate the roomba with disbelief and interest. Tony wet his lips; would Bucky find the idea of a slightly homicidal AI roomba intriguing or would his mild go straight for the Skynet route? Would it be better to play the exchange off as a quirk of Tony’s? 

The engineer was fiercely protective of his creations who were leaps ahead of anything in the field. He didn’t think Bucky would go and… Tony wasn’t even sure what Bucky  _ could  _ do. Call CIA at him? He had inherited enough connections from Obie to close up any investigation of his person before it was even opened, and Pepper was keeping good will alive on so many fronts. With Rhodey’s pull in the military, the name Stark was practically untouchable. No, this was Tony's insecurities rearing thier ugly heads. Taking a steadying breath, Tony grinned at his guest.

“Sorry about that. The kids think it’s funny,” he huffed. “Really caught me by surprise the first couple of times but I guess I got so used to it, it didn’t occur to me to warn you.” Bucky’s gaze was burning into him and had Tony not been an excellent faker, he might have squirmed.

“It’s fine,” Bucky said at last. “Pretty neat.” Tony waited several more moments in case Bucky wanted to say some more but as the man remained quiet, he prompted the man with a “Yeah?”

Bucky shrugged. Roombas were cool. He was more than bit of a science geek before the accident. Collecting scientific magazines and reading up on everything from medical advances to space exploration. Having a robotic limb seemed quite cool before he  _ had  _ to have it. After the shock of waking up with empty space where his limb was supposed to be, it still did sound like a good idea. His balance would have been all kinds of fucked up without the weight of the arm, the phantom pain would go away completely, he’d be  _ whole. _ Then came in Dr. Zola with his experimental prosthetic line, and Bucky came to fear his appointments. The doctor reminded him of a slimy rat. The way his eyes glazed over his scarred skin made Bucky want to throw up from how disgusting he felt. The robotic appendix was bulky and shiny and felt foreign to him. The appointments were dehumanizing with Zemo treating Bucky as a necessary fleshbag attached to his project. Dr. Zemo made it very clear all faults were on Bucky's end, not the technology's.

Bucky dreaded the appointments and couldn't even look at the prosthetic properly. But the operation for the arm's anchoring has been done by then and the ‘experimental’ part meant all procedures were wholly covered.

As if Tony could tell he was slipping, he started talking again. “Well, Ultron is a iRobot Roomba 780 with some software modifications and new skin after that time he got kicked down the stairs - it was an accident okay, it was ass o’clock in the morning and he startled me. I only had him for a couple of days then too…” Bucky leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin on the palm of his hand. The other man was… he was an element, like water or fire. There was no other way for Bucky to describe the fluency of the man’s speech, the sparkle in his brown eyes, the way he grounded Bucky and set him free from his worries at the same time.

Bucky learned there were two roombas in the library, Ultron and Vision. Tony didn’t say how the roombas came to their names or their quirks that shone through the stories once Tony let his mouth run. Ultron’s goal in his simple roomba life seemed to be eradicating the humanity. He was encouraged on his journey to commit genocide by the teens who were delighted to provide him with knives, forks and modified nerf guns. Vision on the other hand was a diligent worker whose only misgiving was his penchant for mysteriously appearing in rooms he should be locked out of.

He watched Tony interact with the flat discs and he though, _ That’s how it should be _ . The connection Tony had with the “buckets of bolts” as he called them, affection easy to hear under the false irritation at their antics. This was how Bucky used to imagine the co-living of people and technology. 

Eventually the library was in pristine condition, drinks drunk and pie eaten, and the two men bid each other goodbye. But not without Tony reminding the taller man he was always welcome.

<<<*>>>

Tony lived on the other side of the town from the library, both by the real estate situation of 2009 and Pepper’s insistence that two walks a day would do him good. He didn’t like it at first. Now, it was one of favourite parts of his steady librarian life. It got him to stretch his legs. There was also the  _ satisfaction  _ of  _ coming home _ . Of kicking his shoes off, calling out “I’m home, sweetheart!” to JARVIS and throwing himself on his couch. It felt infinitely better than falling into different hotel bed every day of the week. For some reason it even felt better than arriving to his Malibu house. The mansion on the cliff has been his fome for almost twenty years yet never felt as home-y as this (by Tony’s standards) tiny place.

Sprawled on the beige piece of furniture Tony fished out one of his tablets from beneath the pillows and with a flick of his fingers he brought up his emails. He had given the mantle of CEO to Pepper but he still was the owner, a majority shareholder and half-time R&D employee. Jarvis pre-sorted his mail by importance without prompting and opened the first one.

“I had Barnes visiting today again,” Tony told his AI. “He talked in full sentences. And  _ smiled _ . And didn’t get mad when Ultron tried to cut his feet off.”   
  
“A rousing success, Sir,” JARVIS chimed in. 

Tony narrowed his eyes at the nearest camera. He was quite sure he was being sassed but decided to let it slide. “I think it was. J, how unethical would it be for me to look him up? The man obviously has some issues. And a dead prosthetic arm which almost bugs me more than the risk of stomping all over his minefield.”

“I believe Miss Potts would advise against breach of Mister Barnes’ privacy, Sir.”   
  
“Yeah. Yeah you’re right. Make a note for me to talk about it to Laura on our next session.” He paused. Should he tell Laura about Barnes? It felt like betraying his trust. Tony got spitting mad when he found out Pepper talked to a therapist, about him, behind his back. It brought up a mix of humiliation and feeling like a burden. Neither of which Tony wanted to inflict on Bucky.

With a sigh he sunk deeper into the cushions. “J, Dial Pepper for me, would you?” He needed some serious people advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real reason Rose Hill Tennessee doens't have a Wiki page is because it does not exist. IM3 was shot in Rose Hill, but in California.
> 
> Also I had to google if tablets were a thing in 2014, I'm THAT useless when it comes to flow of time on any scale. Hours, days, weeks, years, don't even talk at me.


	3. Playing Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for medical research info about amputation and prosthetics, but there are cute robots. And Bucky has a nightmare.
> 
> Most of the articles I used are linked to source, some I couln'd re-find again. I tired for stuff published pre 2014 or in 2014.
> 
> The chapter is shorter than usual but WOW did it make editing easier. I still missed things I'd bet, so if you see anything, hit me up please.

The thing about Tony’s sleep cycle... he didn’t have one worth mentioning. What  _ was _ worth of mention was his chronic insomnia. Even with major sources of stress gone along with his partying businessman lifestyle, with the nightmares sporadic and far apart, his mind worked on it’s own schedule and cared little of socially agreed-on sleep patterns. In addition, his heart medication listed insomnia as a possible side effect too.

It didn’t bother him for the most part. He had gotten accustomed to operating mostly on cat naps. He always had coffee to keep him alert and more than enough projects to keep him entertained. Sometimes he would even move to his bed in time to not snooze on the nearest horizontal surface.

Today was not a day of rest. Bucky was an interesting person and kept Tony’s mind too busy for even a cat nap. Ex-military, sniper, married to a man, with prosthetic arm that, if Tony dared to guess by its (im)mobility, started above the elbow, maybe even from the shoulder. Originally he thought it was a cosmetic prosthetic, only there to keep up the appearances and help with balance. But the way Bucky moved, it seemed the prosthetic was putting strain on his shoulder and back, indicating it was too heavy for him. Which really shouldn’t be the case with any kind of prosthetics. Then he caught a glimpse of metal between Bucky’s glove and the cuff of his leather jacket. Unless Bucky wore a cluster of shiny bracelets under his sleeve, the arm was robotic.

Which raised  _ so many _ questions.

Pepper was adamant that it would be an invasion of Bucky’s privacy to run a search on the man. Tony didn’t quite agree - cyber stalking was the first thing the teens did when they met someone new. Or just wanted to go on a date with someone. He knew because they often did it on the library computers. (He had the best Internet connection in the town. Unsurprisingly.) But Pepper was usually right about these things and this once, Tony decided to actually follow her advice - at least until he got Bucky’s  _ go ahead _ .

In the meanwhile… He would have to play Sherlock Holmes.

Pep didn’t say he couldn’t research prosthetics. He had dabbled in the area before, mostly in a consulting capacity for the most brilliant Dr. Cho. Tony had a serious science crush on her brain and if he had developed specialised medical equipment tailored for her needs? Nobody but Pepper needed to know. Anyhow. If Tony could narrow down the type of prosthetic Barnes was using, he could track down the team in charge and see why they deemed it fine to fit a patient with a prosthetic that clearly did not fit. It possibly fell into the 'Snooping' category Pepper warned him away from-

Either way, Tony spent the Thursday night reading scientific papers on prosthetic limbs published in the last three years. Around midnight he moved from the couch to the workshop. “Light it up, J,” he instructed the AI and pulled  [ an overview of existing mechanisms  ](https://www.researchgate.net/publication/291274244_Overview_Mechanism_and_Control_of_a_Prosthetic_Arm) from the tablet to the table. Following that as an outline and inspiration he started designing one of the bionic models to keep his hands busy. 

The mechanics in itself weren’t that hard - Tony had no trouble constructing Dum-E’s claw at sixteen and had only grown in skill and experience since then. The issues would be powering of the limb, the smoothness of motion, and protecting the delicate machinery from getting shit stuck in it. That could be easily solved by a clever sleeve cover. He didn’t know if Bucky had or wanted one, though. Tony wanted the palm flexible too for full groping capabilities. 

There was also the matter of what kind of pre-programmed grips and positions the hand would assume automatically and how to get the brain respond to the software. People, unlike robots, weren’t aware of what their limbs vere doing every second of the day. “Would it be an overkill to program the fingers to perform the user’s nervous ticks?” he mused, looking at the bots. “What do you think boys, from the perspective of someones who are 90% roboarms and 10% wheels?” 

Dum-E whirled at him from where he was re-arranging Harley’s toolbox and U rolled back and forth with a whistle. “You’re right, that’s more for others’ benefit than the user’s. Maybe later,” Tony allowed. “Make a note, Jarvis.”

To work on ways how to get the prosthetic attached to the the human body he needed to research anatomy and neurobiology. Squishy sciences really weren’t his thing, and he didn't want Helen involved yet. He moved to reading up on anatomy when Dum-E forced a smoothie and a sandwich on him, successfully making his hands too full to manipulate the holograms accordingly.

Friday morning found Tony brushing his teeth while skimming a review of studies on  [ psychological impacts of traumatic limb loss ](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5248418/) . He wasn’t quite sure how he got there, but research was like browsing Wikipedia, sometimes.

It mentioned that the individual undergoing surprise amputation often faced loss of their perception of wholeness, loss of spouse, developed depressive disorder, experienced self-stigma, difficulty in coping with the impairment. To name a few.

Loss of spouse seemed like something Bucky might be facing, or about to face. He was already separated from his husband, being in Rose Hill and all. He didn’t sound like they were about to sign the divorce papers when he talked about the Captain but what did Tony know? He had been stubbornly pretending him and Pepper were doing fine for over a year while in reality, the only reason they weren’t on fire was that they saw each other so sporadically. Pepper, bless her soul, had the emotional intelligence to break it off before they could get hurt too badly to salvage their friendship.

And depression... It was true Bucky wasn’t very social and spent a lot of time holed up in his B&B room. But. Tony only knew Barnes for two days. And he had no right to throw stones when it came to staying inside for socially unacceptable stretches of time. Bucky might just be a hardcore introvert. And naturally greasy, his hair in need of either a wash or a different shampoo.

This was why he needed Bucky’s social media. He needed more data. And since he had been banned from collecting them digitally he had to wait for Bucky to show up for their hopefully by now time-honoured tea time and ask. His Godmother Peggy always had a  _ cuppa  _ around five. They could make it a thing with Bucky. If the man showed up today as well of course.

Tony was in the middle of his third coffee of the day and a study of financial fallout of traumatic hand injury on the patients when Harley plopped down next to him.

“What are you reading?” the kid asked, putting his elbows on the table and leaning over to get a better look at the screen. 

“What would happen to you if you poked your gremlin little fingers where they don’t belong,” Tony answered absentmindedly. “Do you know how expensive American healthcare is? A whole fucking lot.” 

If there ever was a time Tony felt guilty for swearing in front of the teenager, it was long over. He knew all the swear words form school already anyway, and when you dropped a wrench on your foot, you needed to yell a nice loud  _ fuck _ . Tony didn’t make the rules.

Harley didn’t answer beyond shrugging, eyes flying over lines of text. Tony tilted it away. He didn’t really want the smart kid to connect the dots. He might take it as a permission to harass Barnes about the arm. “Do you have your homework done for Monday?”

“I’ll do it on the weekend,” Harley defended in his high-pitched baby voice, a little whine sneaking in. The kid could do amazing things if he found the area of focus interesting; unsurprisingly, homework didn’t register as interesting. Harley was more likely to do his little sister’s homework than his own.

“Sure you will,” Tony said dryly and threw his arm over the boy’s shoulders to give him a brief one armed hug. With a squeeze, because hugs with a little squeeze were scientifically the best. “Go fetch it. You’ll do yours and I’ll do mine.” He rubbed at his eye, suddenly realising how dry his eyes were from staring at the tablet’s screen. “I’ll get snacks, it’ll be like college.”

Harley slipped out of his chair with a small smug smile and Tony wondered if he had just gotten played somehow.

Several hours later, Tony and his stray were lounging on the beanbags, their feet touching, surrounded by snacks and Harley’s notes, instrumental covers of Sabaton playing in the background at a comfortable volume - meaning they could talk without shouting. Tony had put away his tablet and SI emails in favour for proof-reading a book report and Harley was pouring over his history worksheet of comparing the Compromises of 1820 and 1850.

“I like the rant on Hal,” he mentioned. Honestly, what did they even expect? A four years old AI couldn’t possibly have enough experience to deal with conflicting orders without frying its circuits. Even JARVIS had trouble staying online when a general order (looking after Tony’s health) conflicted with a specific order (“Don’t contact anyone!”) during his early years. In fact he was more distressed about it than Dum-E, who just did what he wanted to do from the get go. To JARVIS it took nearly a decade of gathering data to analyse with accuracy when specific order took precedence over general order and the other way around.

“‘T was why I picked the book,” Harley murmured, and shook an empty bag of chips in a circle so that Vision could have some fun following the line of salty dust. Ultron had lost interest a long time ago and wheeled away to terrorize dust bunnies under the shelves. Ultron, Ultron might have solved the dilemma by deciding humans sucked anyway, kill the whole crew and try to get the mission done flying solo. Unless he decided he didn’t care for the mission either and become an intergalactic pirate. He could have a hook taped on him, or an eyepatch, like Nick Fury, the dramatic morherfucker.

...He needed a nap so badly. But since that still didn’t seem to be in the near future, more coffee. Tony heaved himself up with a groan. “You want anything?” 

The boy shook his head, not looking up from his game with the roomba. Tony shrugged. His loss.

####  <<<*>>>

Tony’s company had been delightful while it lasted. The next day though Bucky was utterly drained of energy. His sleep had been disturbed my images of Dr. Zola taping knives to scars on his shoulder, his disturbingly small, clammy hands everywhere on Bucky’s body. Tony holding him up like he was a ferret, berating him like he did the roomba.  _ “A disaster is what you are,”  _ Dream Tony told him with compassion,  _ “Steve should donate you for spare parts.” _ And Bucky looked at himself and saw, he was a robot, made out of gears and shifts, everything bared for the world, oil pouring through the metal components like blood, dripping on the floor where Vision failed to clean it up and just smeared it all over the floor in broad storkes. Steve was cleaning the mess up with a mop. When he looked at Bucky, his disappointed expression was what jerked Bucky out of the nightmare.

His heart was racing and his breath ragged as he clawed on the seam of metal and flesh,  _ get it off get it off get it off--- _

But the arm was wired to his nervous system, the most edge-cutting technology of today. It could only be removed in a surgery under Zola’s knife and Bucky would rather die than see that man again. Zola and his tiny squidgy hands and way too big forehead and saggy cheeks and violating stare.

Steve always held Bucky through his nightmares, held his wrist so that he couldn’t scratch at himself and shushed him and kissed his temples. And it helped, until Bucky calmed down and all he felt was ashamed and sick. It didn’t get any better, not even after he was out of Zola’s hands and he switched from the program’s therapist dr. Zemo to VA counselor Sam Wilson.

Bucky groped around for his phone. The light nearly blinded him as he pulled up Sam’s messages.  _ Nightmare, unhurt _ , he sent quickly and tossed the phone on the blanket before curling up in a tight ball. He should try to describe his nightmares at least a little, but despite being all wired up, he didn’t have the energy.

He didn’t fall asleep again, and he didn’t get up when the morning light creeped into his window. 


End file.
